The White Mountains
The capital of Rohan, Edoras.
In the grand hall, Gandalf stood quietly before the throne.
Before him sat the ruler of Rohan, King Théoden. Long-term erosion and dark enchantment had turned this once heroic king into a withered old man.
His twisted face and vacant eyes made him look like a lifeless puppet.
With Gríma subdued, the other guards did not intervene with these outsiders; they even secretly hoped that the famous wizard of Middle-earth could help their king.
...
A repressive and tense atmosphere gradually filled the hall.
Gandalf, holding his staff, stood within five meters of Théoden.
As Gandalf chanted a mysterious spell, Théoden let out a piercing laugh under the gaze of the expectant crowd.
"You don't have enough power, Greyhame! Gandalf!"
In response to the mockery, Gandalf threw off his grey robe, emitting a dazzling white light that made everyone squint instinctively.
This Maia sent to Middle-earth no longer chose to conceal his power at this moment.
A mighty force gathered in his staff, and the possessed Théoden could no longer utter a sound, seemingly bound by invisible chains to his throne.
...
Like poison being expelled from a wound, Théoden, freed from Saruman's control, reverted from an old man to a middle-aged king.
At this moment, a valiant figure rushed out from the crowd, gently supporting the newly restored Théoden.
"I recognize your face! Éowyn!"
Théoden said with some difficulty, "It feels like I had a long nightmare."
"But now you're awake. Breathe freely, my friend!" Gandalf's tone was filled with encouragement and praise.
"You are Gandalf!" Théoden said softly, looking around and noticing two familiar faces missing.
"Where is Théodred? And Éomer?"
...
On the plains thirty miles from Edoras.
"Theódred!" Ino used his wand to his throat, casting an amplification spell.
A loud voice fell, and a young blond man, leading dozens of riders, quickly broke away from the group and spurred their horses forward.
A few minutes later, at the front of the team.
"Theódred, distribute food with your riders. Let's try to reach Edoras today," Ino instructed the young man before him, knowing his identity at first glance.
Theódred, the crown prince of Rohan, and the only son of Théoden.
He was supposed to have died at the Fords of Isen, but fate brought him to a group of elderly, women, and children.
Out of gratitude and a sense of responsibility as the crown prince, Theódred led the remaining riders to join this group, most of whom were Rohan citizens.
"Leave it to me!" Theódred nodded in response.
The trials of life and death had made this young prince very steady.
"Good, let's begin then!" Ino pulled out some dried cheese and ham from a box and waved his wand.
The food multiplied, doubling and quadrupling until it piled up like a small mountain.
This miraculous scene, though seen many times, still left Theódred and the riders in awe each time.
Despite their amazement, they did not forget their duties. Everyone dismounted, took large woven bags from their horses, and methodically began packing the food.
After the riders started distributing the food, Ino took a moment to light up a pipe with Shire's specialty.
Throughout the journey, he had never hidden his use of magic to aid the thousands of people in the convoy.
The reason was simple: the people gathered here were survivors of orc attacks, with no supplies at all.
Without using magic to solve the food supply issue, this group, with its elderly and young, would not survive six months, let alone six days.
...
It is said that when the number exceeds ten thousand, it becomes a vast expanse.
But in reality, it doesn't need to be ten thousand, just a few thousand.
The convoy stretched for hundreds of meters, finally seeing the city on the hillside before dusk, the capital of Rohan, Edoras.
At the same time, in the hall of Edoras, a meeting that would decide the fate of Middle-earth began.
"...This is just the beginning of Saruman's bloody slaughter. His cruelty is driven by his fear of Sauron. You should stand up, only then can you save your people," Gandalf urged sincerely.
Faced with Gandalf's persuasion, Théoden did not respond immediately, instead falling into a difficult internal struggle.
Rohan could not withstand a war; Théoden knew this better than anyone.
Under the influence of Gríma's treachery over the years, Rohan's national strength was severely damaged, to the point that Edoras could no longer assemble even a thousand riders.
Rohan was now weaker than ever.
Seeing Théoden's hesitation, Aragorn spoke up suddenly:
"You still have two thousand elite riders fighting in the north! Led by Éomer, the Riders of Rohan!"
At this moment, a deep bell rang outside.
"The alarm bell!" Théoden abruptly stood up, grabbing a sword and heading for the door.
At the same time, Gandalf, Aragorn, and everyone else in the hall hurriedly grabbed their weapons and followed.
...
The alarm bell, which had been silent for a century, suddenly rang, plunging Edoras into a brief panic.
However, after a short moment of fear, all the people of Rohan began arming themselves in silence.
Whether they were elderly, wounded and disabled men, or half-grown children, everyone picked up weapons, be it farm tools, short bows, or rusty swords...
At this moment, there were no age differences, only a common identity: Rohan soldiers!
Though some children had faces marked with fear, not one of them retreated. They stood silently at the city gates, waiting for the king's command.
As they assembled, the elderly soldiers instinctively stood in front of the children.
Despite their stooped figures, these old soldiers were like shields, standing firmly at the forefront.
At the same time, Théoden and his companions reached the highest point of the city gates.
Looking into the distance, they saw a long black line stretching for hundreds of meters on the horizon.